Washington County, Maine

Apple trees heavy with the season’s fruit,

piebald, yellow, planet-red, even black,

stand abandoned in fields, the unintended

gift of those who long ago moved on,

a gift to waxwings and even to the tone-

deaf crows in their undertaker’s suits,

to the man driving slowly, window down,

to the worms in their snow-white orbit.



By Passamaquoddy Bay

Thin light over Campobello Island

to the east when I rise to walk

the long abandoned railroad bed.

Not a trace is left of the rails.

I have several letters to answer

and yesterday’s paper to read,

but the wild apples are waiting

cold on the tongue, polished by mist.